Author Archives: Peter Sanford Kahrmann

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About Peter Sanford Kahrmann

Writer, disability rights advocate, civil rights advocate.

Health Care Sleuths – Not!

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A federal agency Wednesday reported that some baby boomers still get high. Wow! Didn’t see that coming. I mean, who knew? Be still my beating heart. In an effort to retain some semblance of decorum in this missive, I will set aside my instinctive reaction to the news and avoid saying, No shit.

All humor aside (well, almost) it’s good to know that the acting administrator of the  Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration’s (SAMHSA), a division of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, Eric Broderick, is on top of things – or maybe not. The AP quotes Mr. Broderick as saying that the continued use of illicit drugs by baby boomers "is likely to put further strains on the nation’s health care system." Likely? You mean he isn’t sure if using illegal drugs might, say, cause health problems severe enough to require, wait for it, medical attention? Mr. Broderick’s powers of deduction would shame Sherlock Holmes.

As much as I love President Barack Obama, I happen to think he will turn out to be one of our country’s greatest presidents, it’s good to know our federal agencies have not lost their ability to appear, in a word, high.

Honesty: Addiction’s Greatest Fear

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Addiction has one simple goal – murder life.

In the meantime, it will feast on your life, people in your life, and destroy anything and everything in its path. As discussed in the previous blog post, secrecy is its favorite fuel. The extent of your silence, the degree to which you are leaving things unsaid, the measure of your dishonesty is, in truth, an accurate measure of the distance you need to travel to get well, to be free. Free to be you, finally and gloriously, you.

Honesty is, if not the most powerful weapon, one of the most powerful weapons you can use in your war with addiction. Addiction cannot survive when faced with honesty, real, rigorous honesty which includes being open about what is going on.

Know this: whether you are the alcoholic-addict or you are a friend or family member, the extent to which you hide or don’t admit what is happening reflects the danger you are in. The sunlight of honesty slays the vampire of addiction. Let the light in. And if you think I don’t know what I’m talking about, consider two things. I am seven years sober because I have learned what an extraordinary and honorable friend honesty is. My younger brother could never get himself into the light and I missed the signs. What happened? When he was 23 he put a rifle to the side of his head and fired. I was 24. There are no happy endings without honesty. and openness. You drive away or hide from the honest people in your life, you drive away and hide from your allies.

A warning. If you do call attention to the presence of the addiction, you may get wounded. Some find it easier to shoot the messenger than deal with the message. But mark my words, however difficult the message may be for you to deal with ain’t shit compared to the wrenching pain and destruction addiction will inflict on your life and the lives of your loved ones.

Do you hear me?

Secrecy: Addiction’s Favorite Fuel

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Hoping to heal from the deadly grip of addiction without revealing what is going on in your life is like asking a doctor to make you better without revealing your symptoms, or asking firefighters to put out the fire without telling them where the flames are. It can’t be done.

Addiction – which includes alcoholism, folks – is a vicious, nasty, deadly, thing.

There is a well worn and accurate expression in 12-step programs that says, You’re only as sick as your secrets. It’s true. The extent to which you are keeping things hidden may be an accurate measure of how far you need to travel to get well. A simple fact to understand? Yes. Simple to reveal what is going on in your life? Anything but.

For the moment, think of secrecy as darkness, the absence of light. Addiction grows with a vengeance in the darkness that is secrecy. It sinks its poisonous tentacles deeper and deeper into the flesh of your being and workings of your mind until it is the conductor of your daily life. Conversely, if the movements and patterns of addiction are brought into the light, it will perish if it is kept there. Keep in mind though, when first brought into the light it will get angry and strike back, often attacking those who’ve revealed its presence in the hopes that they will be villainized and driven off so addiction can slink back into the darkness of secrecy and resume its role as the daily conductor (destroyer) of life.

One thing I have noticed, and I am quite sure I am not the first to notice it, is this. The use of secrecy is often driven by the wish to avoid the anger of others. I know this to be true because I’ve lived it. Anything, please, but having someone angry at me. Anger becomes the controlling presence and, in doing so, promotes the use of secrecy. You’ll hear, I drank today but please don’t tell my wife, she’ll get mad at me. And so you don’t tell his wife because, you tell yourself, you are keeping a confidence. I actuality, you have chosen not to tell his wife that her husband is continuing to take poison. And what is the underpinning for your secrecy? Your fear of enduring the anger you will no doubt absorb when you make the sober choice and let his wife know because if you don’t tell her you are enabling the disease that is trying to kill the very person who confided in you in the first place.

It is hard, deeply hard, not to take the anger personally. Anger hurts when it is aimed at you. Even when you know it comes from the addiction, it is deeply painful, especially when it is inflicted on you by people you love. But there is another expression common in 12-step programs: this too shall pass. And it will. In the meantime, use love and patience and honesty to the best of your ability. Stay in the moment you are in. As a close friend once told me, the moment you are in is the only place you have to be.

Look, none of this is easy. There are no pain free ways of freeing yourself from addiction. I wish there were, believe me. I recently celebrated seven years of sobriety and it has not always been a cakewalk. Helping others, while anything but a cakewalk at times, is well worth it, and helps me shore up my own sobriety, even when I make mistakes, albeit honest well-intentioned ones, along the way.

Dear Dad

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Dear Dad,

Today marks 40 years since you left the world far too soon. You were 55 and I was 15. I climbed to the summit of Indian Head Mountain in the Catskills today to honor you and our relationship, a relationship that continues to this day. It is not a given that death ends the relationship between father and son (or daughter).

You died on a Saturday afternoon and I remember the exact moment because I felt it, physically felt it. I thought about it during the climb today.

The hospital called that morning to tell Mommy you would not make it through the day. I remember being upset and angry with her for not being by your side. She said you were in a coma and wouldn’t know the difference anyway. In retrospect, I don’t think she had the ability to handle the moment. All I know is you should not have died alone, coma or no coma. Anyway, it was around 1:40 in the afternoon when me, Pascal and Bobby decided to walk into Nyack and buy some soda pop. It’s about a 20 minute walk. We were well on our way when all of a sudden the air went out of me. I stopped walking and leaned over, hands on my knees. I knew. I said, “He just died.” Bobby and Pascal looked at me and said, “No, Pete, he’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” We went to the store, bought our soda pop and walked home. I went into the kitchen and Mommy was at the counter preparing food. She turned and said, “Peter, it happened.” You had died. You time of death was 1:53.

The climb today was grueling, but I didn’t care. I was glad to be alive to do it. I summited around 12:40 and put one of your twigs on the summit. When I visit your grave I collect the small branches and twigs that fall from the Oak tree next to you. It dawned on me some years ago that by now your body is part of the soil and thus part of the tree so by having these twigs with me I have you with me. I leave one on every summit.

On the descent I thanked God for giving me an ample ass because when my feet slip out from under me on wet rock and I land on my butt it’s like falling into the arms of a loved one.

I miss you terribly, Daddy. I’d give up the rest of my life in a heartbeat to hug you one more time. In the meantime, I’m doing the best I can. I’m far from perfect as I’m sure you know. But one of the many things that was special about you was you never expected me to be perfect or wanted me to be perfect. All I had to do to be loved by you was be me, be Peter.

I hope we meet again. I hope there is something after this life and if there is, if it doesn’t include being with you again, I’m not interested.

I hope you are safe and happy and loved wherever you are.

Always you son love you his whole wide world,

Peter

Always for Dad

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I am 24 hours or so from going into the Catskill Mountains and climbing to the 3,573-foot summit of Indian Head Mountain in honor of my Dad. Tomorrow marks the 40th anniversary of the day he left this world and I hear Indian Head is one of the tougher climbs. I’m scared, but I’m game.

This morning the sun is out, comforting in its presence. I am listening to a gentle duet between piano and cello and I am feeling love for the world I am in, a kind of gentleness aimed at everyone, even those I don’t like. I’m not sure where this comes from and am not inclined to figure it out lest that effort lose me the moment I’m in. My smiling mind drifts from place to place, my writer’s mind not caring what others might think of these pastel, peace-loving sentences. Those that might cringe in their presence are probably most in need of them.

This morning too I find myself thinking of Billy Damrow, my first childhood friend in my heart (we were able to safely confess our love of books to each other) and Sarah S, a woman I once loved and love and hope is well. Like so many of us, her history wounded her so badly she could not, at the time anyway, experience herself for being the truly extraordinary person she was and, I have little doubt, still is.

Why does my mind center on these people today? I don’t have any idea. It just does.

As for tomorrow’s climb, let me say I’ve read up on it. There is another summit near Indian Head and it is said some hikers like to bag both peaks in one day, so, of course, I’m pondering that possibility. I am just getting back into shape and there is a well worn and highly accurate piece of training guidance that says when you are getting back into shape don’t let your head get ahead of your body. I’ll have to watch that.

I am expecting the beginning of tomorrow’s hike to be similar to the recent Kaaterskill climb. The horrors will hit early and hard, but the hell with’m. I’ll keep going anyway – for Dad. Always for Dad.